Parallels
by Milli Moi
Summary: The Wizarding War began with the birth of a baby boy, what if it also ended with the birth of one, Harry Potter will become the godfather of the little boy who ended it all. (a Romione based story)
1. Chapter 1

The chaos was coming to an end, they knew it was over, deep down they all knew but yet everyone left in the courtyard of what had been Hogwarts castle were no more relaxed than they had been throughout the long battle. Spells still fired after retreating Death Eaters, spells fired accidentally at friends and colleagues due to fear and mistrust. People screamed and cried, the noise was battering Ron's eardrums as he looked around at the mayhem.

He stood close to Harry, scared that if he so much as glanced away his best mate would be dead, really dead. His hand still tightly clutched the wand he was using. He couldn't even remember if it was his wand, _did his look like that_? He could feel a pulse in the tips of his fingers from grasping the piece of wood as if his life depended on it. His life had depended on it.

"Ron!"

He heard his name called through the crowds, glancing rapidly at Harry to make sure he too had heard and that he wasn't going round the twist. Glancing around he saw no one at first. He moved closer to Harry out of instinct, both twisting themselves outwards, preparing for attack.

"Ron!"

The call came again. This time he knew the voice and his anxiety heightened. Ginny. His whole body seemed to go numb and he thought he was going to throw up, _not someone else, please, we've already lost Fred._ This time Harry nudged him pointing to his left, to the orange head moving through the crowds. Ginny was batting her way between people, around and over rubble and eventually she came to a stop beside the boys.

Her actions did nothing but confuse her brother. She threw her arms around Harry's neck, delighted to see him. Ron prayed it was delight in her expression, not more pain, not more loss. His thoughts turned to Hermione, _bloody hell, are they ok?_

He noticed her fingernails before he took in any more of her face. They were covered in dried blood which went half way up her hands and lurked in the cervices. Ron couldn't hold himself steady, his legs seemed to give way on their own but he managed with very little grace to guide his backside onto a piece of rubble. He felt faint. _No, God please, no._

Ginny knelt in front of him. She was grinning wildly, why was she happy? She had to be hysterical. The blood, there had to be a reason for the blood.

"Ron," she said softly, looking at him with concern – something he didn't often see from his baby sister unless he was in hospital. He looked up, met her eyes. They were worried now but even behind that worry there was a sparkle, a hint of some good in the situation.

"I don't want to say it if you're going to faint. I'm not carrying you upstairs."

Ron managed a nod, he didn't know how. All he could think about was his family, about Hermione, was it her blood? Why was Ginny grinning if it was the blood of his, he couldn't even think the word friend - she was much more than that now.

"Ron," Ginny grinned, her eyes almost tearful, "Things happened quickly - but everything's ok, she's just a bit shook up. I can't believe I'm saying this. You've got a son."

"Hermione? Love?"

Hermione remembered hearing the words of Mrs Weasley as she had struggled to hide the pain that had been coursing through her for a few hours by the time they arrived in the room of requirement. _Now is not the time,_ she thought to herself. Ron's mother knew nothing about the baby; about her first grandchild, and this was not the way in which she should find out. In the words Ron had said to his eldest brother on the subject 'there's a bloody war on here, I don't need to be slaughtered by Mum before the battle even begins.'

It had felt a silly comment at the time, felt as though he was just making a joke to cover his increasing concern as they got closer and closer to danger, as her stomach was slowly beginning to grow. He was scared, she knew that and he knew the same of her but there was a war on. They had to take the Utilitarian view of Jeremy Bentham, 'the needs of the many over the needs of the few.' Yes, she had been exhausted, yes she had been physically sick and unable to eat at all, yes she had suffered pain in her legs from walking so far with the extra weight but it would be worth it. It had to be worth it.

Ron and Harry had left, Fred, George and Percy had headed off together much to Mrs Weasley's Chagrin. Arthur, Bill and Charlie were out there too so were all her school friends. Some of the underage had slipped through the net and got involved. She knew that all involved from sixteen to in their nineties were fighting, and fighting to the end or to death.

A sharp pain shot up her left side and she clutched at her ribs, Molly had crossed to her instantly. The pains had been getting strong, she knew she had to be in active labour. It wasn't time, she knew it wasn't time and if she could only keep going then they could give her medication to prevent the contractions. She just had to get through the next few hours.

"Hermione?"

She hadn't answered the question, she felt strange. Her mouth was dry, her eyes were full of a checked pattern in greys and blacks and she was struggling to see through them. She felt sick, a ringing was sounding sharply in her ears and it was as though her body was heavy, her head was heavy.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been cool for August, that she remembered almost as vividly as the event itself. She remembered his weight on her with his ribs digging into the spaces between hers where he had collapsed onto her body to catch his breath. Both had heaving chests, breathing hard with Goosebumps littering their sweaty skin.

Hermione had brushed a branch of bushy hair out of her face, looking into the blue eyes of the young man who had just taken her virginity.

She, with blushing and feelings of great embarrassment, had known this was what she wanted since her first kiss with Victor Krum. One of the girls – she didn't remember who – had mentioned next steps and she could remember the feeling of dread. Victor was larger, muscular and older than Ron. She could imagine he had experience, and she had prayed that his experience would not be forwarded to her.

Now she had succeeded. There had been no embarrassment, he had been sweet and gentle and they had laughed, yes there had been discomfort but it was short lived and she had known that he had meant every bit of his words.

Now, as he pulled himself up on his arms, balancing briefly so he could flick hair from his eyes, he grinned. The smile was honest, pure and loving.

Ron dragged himself off to collapse on his side next to her, reaching up with the back of a shaking hand to stroke her cheek. She smiled, feeling suddenly more conscious about her imperfect and not totally hairless body.

She had moved closer to him, using the warmth of his alabaster skin to warm her own. They were sharing a moment, confirming a feeling and cementing a future.

Minerva McGonagall had not held a newborn baby for a very long time, she supposed it had been seventeen years since she had held a baby and even then, he had been just over one. This baby, this small frog-like thing with the purest white skin which looked almost transparent as it wailed in her hands, it was the freshest new baby she had ever encountered.

Glancing at Molly, a frequent visitor to the Maternity unit herself in her younger days, and one of her own students huddled on the blanket-strewn floor of the headmaster's office, she almost felt Professor Dumbledore would have been proud. She would have asked had he, and his fellow portraits not insisted on giving the young girl her privacy.

Hermione's skin looked just as pale as the infant's though her cheeks were burning red and her fingers multi-toned where she still clutched Molly's hand.

She had always been determined, always been strong and usually sensible but a friendship with Dumbledore himself had shown Minerva that a person overcome with young love is usually blind to right and wrong.

She gently rocked the scrawny thing, which – being a touch on the early side – looked almost like a baby pixie or gnome.

A little boy it was, carrying on the Weasley tradition she supposed, but she saw more than that in the situation; it was dripping with irony.


	3. Chapter 3

Ron wasn't sure he had ever dashed through the grounds and snaked through the stone floored Hogwarts Castle so fast in his life. His heart was thundering, and he could have sworn it was doing double time on what it had been during the fights and very close shaves that he was sure had singed his eyebrows. Now, now none of that mattered, now there was more than he could have thought there would ever be. Now – if Ginny was true in what she said – he had a son.

Of course no one planned to be a Dad before they hit twenty, and he had been thrown into a tornado of emotions which was unescapable for many weeks now but it had all came down to this. He followed the trail of Ginny, almost overtaking her at various points in his haste to get to Hermione.

Finally stumbling upon the site of his mother, sat on the floor and cradling Hermione to her body, he froze.

Hermione looked pale, but rosy-cheeked in the same breathe, she looked frail and Molly was holding her gently as though she was the baby herself. A cloak had been thrown over the lower part of Hermione's body and her hair was stuck down and less bushy than he had seen it for a very long time.

It was then that he noticed Professor McGonagall, she stood a little way off from the scene but approached as soon as she say the two youngest Weasley's enter the room. After he saw McGonagall he saw that she held a long rich coloured cloak in her arms. She cradled the baby in it, swaddling it tight to keep out the chill of the stone walls.

That was him, his little boy, a baby that he had made and would vow to protect for the rest of his existence. McGonagall smiled very briefly at Ron, tilting her head she reprimanded,

"I'm sure you are aware Mr Weasley that I should be telling you about the ludicrous risks that you have taken and the irresponsibility of it all. Instead I will tell you that he is perfect, and that Miss Granger did an exceptional job of bringing him into the world. He will certainly grow up with an exciting story to tell."

She reached over a little, trying to hand the bundle to Ron. Ginny had to nudge him before he could follow through with the passing over of the tiny thing.

Ron wasn't sure he had ever held someone so small. The little boy was still muddied with blood and some other colours of fluid, he wriggled around, balling his fists and stretching them out. His eyes opened to look up at his Father and Ron felt as though his heart must have packed it in this time. The little bright blue eyes were perfect, round and innocent and so new.

He was a little bit small, a little bit skinny for a baby and he was a tiny bit yellow in colour but he was real, and alive, and he'd been born in the middle of a Bloody War.

"Aaron Ronald Weasley."

Hermione's voice was very quiet and lilting when she spoke but there was no doubt she knew what she was saying,

"That's his name," Hermione glanced up at Molly, her eyes were red and tired but she smiled a little at the older woman.

"Your first Grandson."


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione didn't know much about childbirth, as a seventeen-year-old, there had not been a huge amount of need to know about babies. Of course, she was well aware of where they came from, well aware of how to prevent them but for some reason way back, a lifetime ago in the summer of the previous year all caution had been thrown to the wind.

They had found a moment which had turned into something else. She had told Ron it was because she trusted him, she wanted it to be him just so the first time was safe and secure and perfect. That wasn't the reason. She loved the lanky, ginger, young man more than he knew – she had thought more than he would ever know at all. But then it had all changed, she had a baby, a real live baby which had come from her – she was bloody well aware of that part.

She hadn't remembered much of the previous evening, she remembered Ron meeting their little boy, remembered talking to Mrs. Weasley and then she began to feel very tired, so tired she couldn't force her eyes to stay open. She had heard the words 'bleeding' and 'rupture' but not much else.

Now she was in a room she knew. The hospital wing, though missing some chunks of brick and the majority of its window panes, was still familiar and the sun which shone through the open, or non-existent, windows gave Hermione a feeling like she was back in her early years of school, back when the threat of Lord Voldemort had seemed further away and unlikely to come near them in their lifetime.

She rolled on the little bed, feeling the weight of a drip in the back of her hand snaking along her arm and up to the bag of fluids above her head.

She saw her affirmation on the floor. She wasn't worried, she wasn't scared or ruminating the future. On the stone floor, a large wicker basket had been placed. In the basket, asleep and dreaming, was her baby boy.

There was nothing more perfect. He was a little wrinkly, his hands a little blue at the tips of his long fingers. He had nails which were slightly too long and tufts of hair that were vaguely red in colour. He had purple capillaries on his eyelids and plump little pink lips.

Aaron was curled on his side and swaddled loosely in an assortment of blankets, mostly ones she knew belonged to the school, one which was clearly knitted by Mrs. Weasley and had probably come from the end of Ginny's bed. At the foot of the basket – too floppy and out of shape to be called a Moses basket – sat a little envelope.

Hermione reached for the envelope, lifting it gently and breaking the Hogwarts seal on the back. In neat green ink was swirled a message.

 _There was once a prophecy told of a little boy born as Summer saw its end. I am sure you are acquainted with the tale, but now a new world dawns, a little boy has come to signify the end of what another started._

 _You were never one for Divination, never a believer in its delicate art, nether the less, I tell you that he will be named from his father, and will carry his heart, he will see an end to the world we knew and begin a world like we have not known before._

 _Sybil Trelawney._


	5. Not a chapter

Hi everyone I want to apologise that this is not a chapter. The final chapter is in the works and will be done soon. In the mean time I wanted to shepherd you all towards Parallel Parts, which are one shots of deleted scenes as it were from the Parallels story. Hope you will give it a go, thank you all for being so awesome.


	6. Chapter 6

He sat there, on a chunk of a stone pillar, and stared out on the surrounding grounds. It looked strangely peaceful, yet strangely eerie. The place Ron Weasley had called home for several years was a pile of disconnected rubble, crumbled stone and cinders mixed with huge wooden beams and a bridge which was missing its centre.

Beyond, in the grounds of what had been Hogwarts Castle, the world looked so calm; the grass clean and bright; the sun beginning to creep from the edges of a greyed cloud in the early morning light.

The red of the sky reminded him of the fire, the explosions and the screams of the day before. Of thinking his best friend – almost a sixth brother – had died. Of learning, Harry had lived and of knowing, finally, once and for all, that Lord Voldemort was gone forever.

He glanced down at the clean bundle in his hands. Ron himself was dressed in clean and crisp clothes taken from a tall fifth-year student. Even though the student must have been tall he was shorter than Ron, the legs of the trousers barely touched his ankles and there was a chilling gap between the bottom of the trouser leg and the top of his socks.

A gap that couldn't be filled. It made him think of Fred, everything did. It was hard to believe that his older brother was gone. Dead. Killed at the hands of Death Eaters only hours earlier. And yet he wanted to be happy, wanted to be relieved and ecstatic due to the happenings as the battle closed. He looked at the little creature in his arms and didn't know what he was supposed to feel.

That, his tangle of emotions not represented by words, was why he had come out here.

Hermione was asleep, she had slept on and off for most of the night and into the morning. His mum said it was well-deserved. She had lost a lot of blood and gone through a reasonably traumatic delivery. He didn't know much about all the medical words being thrown about but all that really mattered was that she was safe.

And He was safe. Ron looked down at the little one in his arms, Aaron. He had to keep reminding himself that it had a name – and a gender for that matter. It was a little baby boy, it was Aaron Ronald Weasley. This tiny thing, with the wrinkliest hands and a general look of not fitting his own skin, was his. He was perfect, and every time Ron looked at his son he felt his heart swell in his chest.

They had made it, all three of them with a separate task to complete. He had fought, Hermione had endured extreme pain and this little lad had survived without damage despite being a little on the small and early side. Harry was alive, Voldemort was dead and he was a Dad. There could not have been a more perfect ending.

Ron thought back to the legend he had grown up with, the legend of a baby boy – around his age – who had defeated Lord Voldemort. Harry Had ended the first Wizarding War, and, Ron decided in that moment, being sure Hermione would agree, that Harry's Godson had been the baby born to end the second war. There were, after all, parallels round every corner.


End file.
